


Deviate (from the form of nothing)

by MourningAugust



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bondage, Gags, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:05:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MourningAugust/pseuds/MourningAugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry isn’t sure how he got lucky enough to have a friend willing to give him so much, and he knows he’ll never be able to give back even a fraction of what Niall gives him, but he’s so fucking grateful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deviate (from the form of nothing)

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be pure PWP kink, but it grew feelings. It was also supposed to be a stand-alone, but I couldn't leave it like this. I am already working on the sequel.
> 
> Title from a song by Scar Symmetry that I can't remember the title to (it might be Deviate) and I can't find in my iTunes to check...

Harry’s hands are shaking horribly by the time he slams the laptop shut. His eyes are stinging and he swears he can feel his heartbeat throughout his entire body his blood is pounding so hard. He feels stupid - so fucking stupid – and he wants to stop the panic attack he feels coming, but he doesn’t know how. Harry doesn’t know why he does this to himself, lets himself get worked up like this. The article isn’t even been that bad; just more speculation on who he’s dating (or fucking) with a grainy photo of him coming out of a club – nothing major. But it was on yahoo and had popped up as soon as he’d pulled his internet browser up and Harry wasn’t prepared to see his face plastered all over the place and read all of the assumptions about his personal life when all he’d wanted was to check his email before bed.

Harry would like to think he’s strong enough to handle this attack on his own, but he’s never really been good at lying to himself. Standing up, he searches through his bag quickly and grabs the first scarf he comes across. Clinching it tightly in his fist, he grabs his key-card off the dresser and heads for the door. He doesn’t even bother to put shoes on.

The shaking in Harry’s hands turns to full body trembling by the time he’s knocking on Niall’s door, loud and rapid-fire. Harry’s glad they’re famous enough now to all have their own rooms; explaining to one of the other guys why he and Niall needed the room alone for an hour or so would be a level of hellish awkward Harry couldn’t contemplate.

Niall opens the door grinning. Then he takes in the look on Harry’s face and the shaking; his eyes drop down to Harry’s hand where he’s got the scarf clutched in a white-knuckle grip – their symbol for when Harry’s having a hard time and needs Niall to help him deal. The grin drops off his face abruptly. “Shit Haz. Already?” He steps out of the doorway to let Harry through.

Harry’s eyes drop down to the carpet and he shuffles past Niall. “Sorry.” He hates having to come to Niall with this. Niall can’t possibly get anything out of this, not the way Harry does and no matter how many times Niall reassures him that it’s okay, it must get awkward for him. Harry knows one day it’s going to be too much and Niall will want to stop; Harry is absolutely terrified of that happening. As much as he hates having to ask this of Niall, he needs it even more.

Niall sighs. “’S not what I meant. You know I don’t mind. I just wasn’t expecting it so soon into the tour ‘s all.”

Harry nods and doesn’t look up. He gets that, they have only been on the road for ten days after all. “Sorry,” he mumbles again. Harry wishes he could explain what it is that’s setting him off to Niall, help him to at least understand what it is that he’s helping Harry work through, let him feel the magnitude of the vibrating ball of emotion sitting heavily at the base of his skull pulsing and growing and throwing out tentacles to slowly wrap around his brain and suffocate it. But Harry doesn’t even fully understand it himself; how could he possibly make Niall understand. His fingers squeeze tighter around the piece of cloth in his hand. This scarf is a symbol of everything that’s wrong with his life and at the same time it’s a symbol of everything that’s exactly right about it.

Niall sighs again, but apparently gives up arguing as a lost cause. “Right then. Give me a number Harry.”

Harry toys with the scarf in his hands, picking at a seam with his thumbnail. He thinks hard about that. Thinks about the way his chest feels tight and constricted, the way his breathing is shallow and his heartbeat rapid. He thinks about the way coherent thought feels complicated, like he’s got to think through a fog in his brain. He thinks about the way his body is shaking and it feels like if he doesn’t make it stop soon pieces of him might shake off completely and he’ll lose them forever. “Eight.” Harry’s never been that high on the scale before.

Niall’s eyes widen and he takes a step forward, pulling Harry into his arms, folding him into a tight embrace. “Shit Haz. Didn’t know it was getting so bad. Don’t worry, we’ll fix it.”

Sinking into Niall, Harry lets him support all his weight and clings to Niall’s shirt with both hands. He presses his face into the curve of Niall’s neck and breathes against his skin. Warmth soaks into Harry’s skin, Niall is always like a furnace, and the press of his body against Harry’s, the feel of his arms wrapped so tightly around Harry, makes Harry feel like Niall’s holding together all the pieces of Harry that feel like they’re shaking loose. “Thank you.” 

It feels easier now that Niall knows. Harry’s absurdly grateful for the research he’d done that produced the idea of using a number scale to articulate just how badly he needed to go under, how badly he needed Niall to take care of him. He couldn’t possibly find the words to explain, but he could manage a number and now that they had the scale it was enough to make Niall understand. Now that Niall knew, he was going to fix everything.

Rubbing a hand up and down Harry’s spine, Niall squeezes Harry tighter. “Any time, Haz. You know that.”

Harry nods against Niall’s shoulder and shuts his eyes against the surge of emotion swelling in his chest. There’s a physical ache under Harry’s ribs, burning him in his core; Harry’s pretty sure it’s gratitude. Or maybe affection, love. Harry loves all his lads, but Niall’s the only one who gives him this. Niall’s the only one who fixes him when he’s broken. A year of Niall putting him under whenever Harry needed it hasn’t made Harry any less amazed at Niall’s willingness to do this for him. “Yeah.”

Loosening his arms, Niall takes a step back. “Ready to start?”

Biting his lip, Harry nods. “Yeah.” He’s so beyond ready it’s not even funny. Harry feels like he needs to be invisible right now more than he needs his next breath.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Niall tips his head to one side. “You need pain to go under?”

Frowning, Harry shakes his head. “Not tonight.” He does, sometimes, but Harry’s feeling too raw and exposed already for that tonight. He just needs the scarf, and the immobility and sub-space. And Niall, always, always Niall.

Nodding, Niall takes another step back. “All right then, get comfortable.” He turns around and heads for the mini-fridge across the room. 

Niall never tells Harry to get undressed; he always leaves the decision on how much clothing to take off up to Harry. Sometimes Harry only feels comfortable taking his shirt off, and there have been times where he’s preferred to stay fully dressed. Mostly he likes to strip down to just his pants, but Niall never forces him to do anything, always leaves the choice up to him. Harry doesn’t know if he likes that or not; some nights he thinks he’d like Niall to push it, to make Harry do whatever he asked regardless of Harry’s own feelings; he’d love to do that for Niall. But Niall knows that part of Harry’s whole problem, the reason he needs this so badly in the first place, is the feeling of exposure. Harry’s so tired of having his whole life splashed across newspaper and magazine pages, packaged up for public consumption like he’s a product and not a person. Niall is always careful to keep from reinforcing that feeling of vulnerability for Harry; but Harry thinks he might like being vulnerable and exposed just for Niall, might like flipping that feeling of transparency from something that makes his skin crawl into something that makes his blood heat up. But that would make this into something that it’s not, and Harry won’t ask any more of Niall than what he’s already giving. He’ll follow the rules, even if sometimes he craves something else. 

Harry takes a minute to think about what he wants tonight, and after careful consideration he pops the button on his trousers and slides them down his hips. He follows that up by whipping his t-shirt up over his head, leaving him in just his boxers. He shivers in the cool air of the room, his skin prickling with goose bumps and his nipples hardening. This is close enough to channeling that feeling of exposure into something positive, something he can give to Niall without it being too much. It’ll be enough.

Niall bends down and takes a bottle of beer – the hotel had stocked all of their rooms with their favorites - and a bottle of water out the fridge. He sets both of them down on the bedside table on his way back to Harry. “Good. Hands.”

Shivering, Harry holds up both his hands, wrists turned inward and pressed together, the scarf still held loosely in one hand. Excitement churns in Harry’s belly and he can barely make himself stand still for this.

Gently, Niall uncurls Harry’s fingers from around the strip of cloth and presses a light squeeze to Harry’s wrist in encouragement. Niall wraps the scarf around Harry’s wrists deftly, going around and then between in a complicated pattern binding Harry’s arms together from wrist to elbow in the pattern he’d learned from a video on youtube. They’d tried several different methods of bondage in the early days of figuring out this arrangement between them and nothing had really felt right until Niall had broken down and searched techniques on the internet. “All right?”

Sucking in a few sharp, shallow breaths, Harry just nods, unable to manage a verbal response. The scarf is tight around his forearms, but not cutting off circulation and Harry can’t move them more than a fraction. His skin tingles everywhere the cloth touches and rubs, sliding over Harry’s skin and making it feel raw. Adrenaline floods his body and all of a sudden, every nerve ending in Harry’s system feels exposed and overstimulated. Harry loves this feeling of immobility, of not being able to move and therefore not having to control his movements. There’s no choice here, no decision Harry has to make and then fret over whether or not it’s the right one. Instead of the bondage making Harry feel trapped, it makes him feel safe.

Niall slips two fingers under the edge of the binding where it knots, checking the tightness and nods to himself. One of his rules for doing this with Harry had always been that if they were going to do this, then it had to be done right. He’d made Harry research and he’d done research of his own to make sure that they didn’t ever do anything that could hurt Harry. He’s far more careful with Harry than Harry would be with himself. He takes a few steps back and bends over to pick up Harry’s discarded shirt. Rolling it into a ball, he holds it up. “Open.”

Harry opens his mouth wide and his stomach flips with anticipation. This is yet another layer Niall is putting between Harry and the outside world, insulating him, keeping him safe. Not only will Harry not be able to do anything wrong, but he won’t be able to say anything wrong either. Niall won’t let him.

Niall carefully pushes the balled shirt into Harry’s mouth, gagging him. 

His eyes flutter shut and whimpers into the soft cotton. Harry can feel the way his jaw is stretched, feel the slight twinge that will turn into a dull ache by the time the night’s over and he moans softly at the thought. He likes the idea of not being able to forget that he can’t make any noise.

Looking around for something to use as a non-verbal safeword, Niall finally settles on his phone. Grabbing it off the side table, he puts it in Harry’s hands. “Drop it if you want to stop.”

Letting his fingers fold over the smooth plastic, clutching at it like a lifeline, Harry nods. He doubts that he’ll want to stop, but he likes that Niall cares enough to check. There had been a few times when Harry had needed to use his safeword in the beginning, when neither one of them had any idea how to make this really work. But now, Niall is so good at putting Harry under and giving him exactly what he needs that Harry doubts he’ll ever have to use his safeword again.

Backing away from Harry, Niall looks around for a few seconds like he’s making sure he didn’t forget anything, then sits on the edge of the bed, still close enough to reach the side table, but with plenty of room for Harry too. “Come here Haz.”

Feeling slightly unsteady on his feet, Harry moves forward and comes to a stop next to the bed.

Taking Harry by the elbow and the waist, Niall helps Harry to carefully fold himself over Niall’s lap, body supported by the mattress, legs stretched out toward the footboard. When Harry’s settled, Niall runs a soothing hand up and down Harry’s spine.

Shivering, Harry arches into Niall’s touch. He’s feeling lightheaded and a little lost and the feeling of Niall’s fingers stroking softly over his skin calms Harry on a fundamental level.

Niall gives Harry one more sweeping stroke down his back. “All right, settle down now Harry. We’re starting.”

Sighing, Harry goes limp across Niall’s thighs. His fingers run over and over the casing of Niall’s phone seeking out indentations and edges for his skin to catch on. His desire to do what Niall says and his instinctive desire to move and try to alleviate the restless panic in his brain through motion warring with each other.

Stroking one hand though Harry’s curls in acknowledgement, Niall reaches for the beer he’d fetched earlier with the other. He takes a sip, and then places the bottle between Harry’s legs.

Harry jerks at the first touch of the cold bottle to his overheated skin, but settles quickly. His breathing speeds up, on the verge of panting into the material wedged in his mouth. God this is good, Niall is so good at giving Harry what he needs, can read Harry’s desire to just disappear on his face and in his body language.

When Harry stills, Niall reaches over and balances his laptop on Harry’s lower back, opening it up and tapping at the keyboard.

The urge to move around, to shift and fidget, is strong, but Harry fights it down. He finds the place where the brand name is stamped into Niall’s phone casing and runs the pad of his thumb over the raised lettering, trying to settle himself with the repetitive movement.

Niall hums softly to himself as he clicks away at his laptop, his arm brushing against Harry’s hip occasionally as he moves.

Harry breathes in through his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. The bottle between his legs is cold and a little damp with condensation and the laptop is a heavy weight on his back. Niall is a solid mass beneath him and Harry can soak him in with all five senses. It’s still not enough. Harry’s brain is racing and his breathing is shallow and he’s so close, the bondage and the gag have him standing on the edge, but he can’t seem to fling himself over. 

Niall reaches down to take his beer from between Harrys legs, lifts it to his lips for a long pull, and then replaces the bottle between Harry’s thighs.

That’s what does it for him, the way Niall is just using his body. Harry can’t move, he can’t speak and Niall is completely ignoring him now. Niall’s not expecting Harry to be ‘Harry Styles from One Direction’ he’s just using him to prop up his computer and hold his beer. Harry’s mute and invisible here and the paparazzi can’t see him, the fans can’t ask him to give more, the label can’t ‘encourage’ him to be the perfect, marketable image they want and not the person that he is. Harry closes his legs around the cool glass and just lets go. His vision whites out and his heartbeat pounds in his ears, and his limbs feel weightless. Euphoria explodes in his brain and heat races down his spine. The sensation is similar to arousal, but this isn’t about sex, it never has been; it’s a release of a completely different sort. Harry loses track of space and time and just lets himself float, trusting Niall to keep him from floating away. 

***

“Harry. Harry. C’mon Haz, time to come back up now, mate.”

Harry blinks and comes back to himself at Niall’s gentle urging. His jaw feels sore where it’s still split wide around the gag and his arms are starting to tingle in the bad way – the way that means he’s kept them in the same position for longer than what’s advisable and he feels stiff. The laptop is gone from his back and the beer bottle from between his legs. He has no idea how long he was down for, his mind feels like it was only minutes, but his body tells him it was longer. Harry mumbles into the gag to let Niall know he’s back up.

Niall rubs a hand over Harry’s shoulders. “There you are.” His hand travels in a familiar path along the knobs of Harry’s spine and then back up. “Feel up to trying to sit up yet?”

Harry nods against the bedspread and shifts restlessly against Niall’s thighs. Truthfully, he’s not ready for it to be over yet, but he can tell by the stiffness of his body that he needs to.

Hooking a hand under Harry’s arm, Niall helps Harry into an upright position.

Folding his bound arms into his lap protectively, Harry blinks up at Niall. His brain still feels sluggish, honey thick with the remnants of sub-space and Harry really doesn’t think he’s quite ready to let go of that feeling and come up completely. He wants to cling to the feeling of safety that bondage gives him.

Smiling softly, like he understands, Niall reaches up and carefully pulls the gag out of Harry’s mouth.

Working his jaw around, Harry swallows, trying to wet his mouth and throat. A dull, crackling pain sparks through Harry’s cheeks and his tongue feels like it’s dry enough to crack in half. There’s a tickle in the back of his throat threatening to turn into a cough.

Niall reaches over and grabs the bottle of water he’d stashed on the side table earlier. He cracks the cap and puts the bottle against Harry’s lips.

Harry lets Niall tip a few small sips of water in his mouth, drinking them down obediently. The cool liquid feels fantastic going down. Harry tries to focus on that feeling; focusing on individual sensations after a scene helps him settle his brain back into normal function and shake off the lingering effects of being under.

Niall pulls the bottle away and puts it back on the side table. He turns back to Harry and lets his eyes travel over Harry’s face, assessing. After a few silent heartbeats, he reaches out and uncurls Harry’s fingers from around his phone.

Harry’s fingers clench around empty air; his knuckles feel stiff and sore.

Stroking one finger over the knot on Harry’s bindings, Niall ducks his head to meet Harry’s eyes. “It’s time Haz.”

Sighing, Harry swallows shakily and holds his arms out to Niall. He doesn’t want Niall to take them off just yet, but he feels calm enough to not freak out when he does.

Taking hold of Harry’s hands in one of his own, Niall strokes a thumb over the back of Harry’s knuckles. “Thank you.” Dropping his eyes down to his task, Niall unties the knot and begins slowly unwinding the scarf from around Harry’s forearms.

Whining, Harry bites his lip. This is the part he hates; this is the part where it feels like Niall is taking back everything he just gave him. Logically, Harry knows that a few minutes after they’re off that feeling will fade and the calm, peaceful feeling he’s chasing with every scene will settle over him and the sense of safety and security he’d had while under will return, but right now it just doesn’t seem like it. 

Niall doesn’t stop working, but he does murmur a soft shushing noise. “It’s okay Harry. I’ve got you.”

Harry’s hands are shaking, but he nods. He and Niall had experimented with leaving the bindings on for longer periods of time, hoping that it would help Harry come up more and hate having them taken off less, but it hadn’t made a difference. While the bindings were still on, Harry’s brain just refused to wrap around the logic of ever having to take them off.

When he’s finished pulling the scarf off Harry’s arms, Niall drops it onto the bed behind them and takes both of Harry’s hands in his, softly rubbing Harry’s fingers, massaging the blood back into them. Moving upward, Niall’s fingers work carefully and thoroughly over Harry’s wrists, up his arms and all the way to his shoulders.

Harry sighs and slumps into the touch. His skin burns where the blood is rushing back into it and Niall’s touch is both amplifying and relieving the ache. Harry likes the duality of that. 

Finished with his massage, Niall pulls Harry into a hug.

Harry exhales wetly and presses his face into Niall’s neck. He’s overwhelmed like he always is at the end of a scene. There’s the panic he let go of when Niall put him under, and the feeling of safety that’s starting to creep back over him, there’s the wonder and amazement that Niall is willing to give him this gift, there’s his love for Niall, there’s his need to repay this gift, his need to show his affection; there’s so much taking over Harry’s brain and his heart and Harry can’t help but lay it all at Niall’s feet and hope Niall helps him navigate this too.

Curling a hand around the back of Harry’s neck, Niall tightens his arms. 

Clinging to Niall, Harry sniffles and presses closer. “Can – can we-“ Harry can’t finish, can’t ask for more when Niall’s already given so much.

Tipping his head back to look at Harry, Niall’s brows draw together. “What? What do you need?”

Biting his lip, Harry lets his eyes flutter down to Niall’s collarbone, unable to meet his eyes. Harry’s brain is starting to come back online and Harry’s starting to remember that he shouldn’t be expecting these things from Niall; shouldn’t make him give them to Harry. “Can we lay down for a bit?”

Smiling, Niall laughs quietly. “Of course. You want to watch that video of a cat chasing ducks Louis was talking about earlier? He sent it to me a few minutes ago.”

Corners of his mouth twitching up into a smile, Harry nods. Harry shouldn’t ask, but Niall is just as much at fault; he always says yes. “Yeah.”

Niall grabs his laptop and lays back, settling the laptop on his stomach.

Harry lays down next to him, resting his head on Niall’s shoulder, needing the closeness.

Niall wiggles his arm beneath Harry’s neck and pulls Harry closer to his side.

Throwing a leg over Niall’s Harry snuggles in closer, draping his body over Niall’s as much as possible without upsetting the computer’s precarious balance. They fit together as perfectly as they always do and the familiarity of it soothes Harry’s restless brain.

Niall cues up the video and they both settle in to watch.

The video is funny and Harry giggles softly at it. Niall is a warm line pressed against the entire length of his body and he can feel the rise and fall of Niall’s chest beneath his head with every breath he takes. He feels solid and reassuring beneath Harry. Harry soaks it in greedily.

When the video ends, Niall clicks the link to watch another without asking Harry. His fingertips trail absently up and down Harry’s shoulder.

Four videos later, Harry pulls away from Niall and sits up. He stretches both arms up over his head and yawns, suddenly exhausted.

Niall shuts his laptop and pushes it off to the side. “You all right then, Harry?”

Harry smiles easily down at Niall. “Yeah.” His mind has settled now and both the panic and the vulnerable, needy feeling of coming up have faded and Harry feels far more like himself.

Niall sits up and rakes a hand through his hair. “Give me a number then.”

Harry closes his eyes and thinks. He wraps the fingers of one hand around the opposite wrist. He definitely feels better with the restriction than he had without, so not a one then, but he feels good. “A three maybe, or a high two.”

Niall snorts. “That doesn’t even make sense, mate.”

Grinning, Harry shakes his head. They argue every time about the numbers Harry gives after a scene. “Of course it does.”

Rolling over on his side, Niall grabs the bottle of water on the side table and takes a long sip. “You want to stay? See if we can’t get you down lower by morning?” 

Harry’s stomach flips over at the suggestion and he bites his lip. Cuddling with Niall all night would probably have him down to a one by morning, but that would be asking too much of Niall. Plus, Harry would run the risk of becoming even more dependent on Niall; he already felt like an addict sometimes, shaky and irritable and unable to function if he went too long between fixes. “Nah. Think I’d rather go back to mine.”

Niall shrugs and rolls back over to his back. “Sure.”

Grateful to Niall for so much, but especially his easy acceptance of whatever Harry said he needed, Harry squirms out of bed. He stands and grabs his shirt, pulling it on quickly and then snagging his trousers and doing the same. He turns back to Niall, shuffling his feet and feeling awkward. “Thanks. I really needed – tonight really helped.”

Niall shrugs easily. “I’m glad.”

Harry isn’t sure how he got lucky enough to have a friend willing to give him so much, and he knows he’ll never be able to give back even a fraction of what Niall gives him, but he’s so fucking grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> Like what you read here? Follow me on twitter @MourningAugust for updates on upcoming projects, drabbles that are too short to post here and other craziness related to kink, gay sex and writing. :D


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